We live in a cement jungle on the outskirts of Kyiv, Ukraine. Hundreds of apartment buildings dominate this section called ПОЗНИКИ. That’s pronounced ‘Poznicky.’ You just thought ‘3’ was a number. Nope. Sounds like a ‘Z’ here.
We live in Building 21, Apartment 21. We take a tiny elevator to the sixth floor. We can’t all go at once because: a. we don’t all fit and b. the ‘overweight’ light comes on. There aren’t really any lights, but there is a mirror so you can watch yourself the whole way up. My phone has a flashlight on it which comes in handy for walking down the dark hallway to our apartment.
Then the real fun begins. Opening the door. You’d think that would be a simple task…you would be wrong. It basically involves turning the key towards the door jam to unlock it and jimmying the handle rapidly while pulling on the door. We’re not sure why it ever opens, but we’re always thankful when it does. It’s worse on the way out. Alex and Helen tried to go to the store, but gave up when they couldn’t get the door open.
The outlets are taped to the walls.
The toilet never stops running.
And we love it. We can eat family dinners around the kitchen table. We can hang our laundry on the little enclosed balcony outside. (And all over the apartment because with seven people, there’s a lot of laundry.) We get to operate like a family. Which means stepping on each other’s toes (and beds and laundry and computers.) It means doing the dishes even though you didn’t use them. It means everybody knows when you wake up grumpy. But it also means playing board games until midnight and praying in your pajamas every morning. It means everybody does know when you wake up grumpy…or when you have a bad day…or when you get great news from home. It’s community.
Jill always asks about my brother and sister by name. She remembers when Katy is graduating and that she spent last semester in Honduras. She called last month when my grandfather died because she knew I’d been afraid of that all year. Helen prays for my family at home with specific requests. Shiloh and Alex bought me Sharpies (well, the Ukrainian version) because they know they’re my favorite. Patrick looks for me every time we get off the train so I don’t get lost in the crowd. (That’s easy to do when you’re little!) Ben got up at 7 am to travel 2 hours back and forth across Kyiv with me just to retrieve the phone charger and adapter I left with another contact.
Yeah, we’ve left our families behind for the year. But we’ve found family out here on the race. And just like our families at home, we don’t get to choose them. We don’t always like them. We get annoyed and frustrated. But then they care for us so well. They remember our favorite treats. (Diet coke and candy. Some things never change. 🙂 They know when to let us wallow and when to give us a kick in the pants. They know what we need when we don’t even know ourselves. That’s the beauty of community.
(I’m off tonight to Lugansk on the Russian border. Then on to Moldova on Sunday. Then to Romania on the 25th. I’ve gotta get rid of some stuff!)
